By Peg Keeley
McGarrett stormed out into the hall.
Wetzel stood downstairs by the city desk, fury in his eyes, hands
clenched. Matthewson stood nervously behind him. "McGarrett, I've
been up all night, can't this wait till I get some sleep?" Wetzel
snapped annoyance plain.
"I've been up all night, too," Steve retorted. "I almost lost an undercover
cop tonight because you denied him his contact. Thanks to you and
DEA we had officers shoot each other!"
"Now wait!" Carl shouted.
"No, you wait, you wimp!" Wetzel exploded, turning on the DEA lieutenant.
"You didn't like the outcome, there's dirt in the department, so you
go running scared to each other--safety in numbers! Worried about
what else I'll dig up, Matthewson? McGarrett?" He glared at each in
turn, then sneered. "Bunch of babies."
"You listen here." Steve gripped him by the collar. "You are a danger
to everything the law stands for. You come in here with your flowery
promises to politicians, the pied piper to rid us of all evil if we
will just look the other way. And what happens? You violate rights,
innocent people are victimized-"
"Victim? What victim? There's no victim. Your buddy is charged with
possession, resisting arrest, discharging a firearm--" Wetzel, flushed
red, fired back.
"The safeguards are there for a reason--for the protection of all,"
Steve said more quietly. "They protect the innocent and the guilty
alike. Nobody can be that damned sure. And when those safeguards are
removed, society itself is reduced to anarchy."
"This isn't about noble society, McGarrett." Wetzel snarled. "It's
about your friend getting busted and that makes you and your righteous
department look bad."
Someone cleared a throat and all three men turned to face Governor
Moyer. "I thought this discussion was going to wait for me," he said
quietly. There were uniformed officers standing around all over the
department staring at the show down.
Steve realized he still gripped Wetzel's shirt and let go. "We were
just warming up," he muttered.
The Governor motioned towards the hallway where more personnel peeked
around corners. "Well, let's find somewhere just a little less public."
"I have just the place," McGarrett retorted. "Danny wants to be a
part of this."
Wetzel and Matthewson both started to protest.
"What's your problem? You're the ones who wanted to throw out the
rules," McGarrett remarked, leading them back upstairs to the conference
As Steve opened the door, Danny was just hanging up the phone. "I
just called John Manicote. He's three minutes away."
"You called the DA?" Wetzel asked.
"Sounded like we might need a referee."
"Sounds like we might need a bigger room," Matthewson commented.
Duke sat in the soft chair beside Kono's
bed. The dialysis machine hummed softly as it pumped Kono's poisoned
blood through its filtration system and back into the unconscious
officer. Duke's eyelids were heavy from lack of sleep and comedown
from the high of the adrenaline flow earlier. Kono is a good man.
I was recruited to Five-0 on his recommendation. He would never have
done something to blow his cover, how did they find out? Things are
happening and I don't know what they are. Against his will, he
eyes closed, his head dropped back in exhausted slumber.
He startled alert at the sound of Kono's voice and was out of the
chair at his side instantly. How do you feel?"
"Can't sleep cause you're snoring," he mumbled.
Duke gave a grin. Even at his worst, Kono can still make a joke. "I'll
tone it down," he agreed quietly, then repeated, "How do you feel?"
He slowly closed his eyes, then reopened them. "Mouth fulla sand.
Got some water?"
Duke glanced around, not sure if it was all right, and spotted a pitcher
"Good stuff, that water," Kono approved after he'd taken a sip.
"You remember what happened?"
"Enough to know I'm swearing off whisky for life," Kono replied. "What
was going on? Where's Danno?"
Duke knew that was not the issue right now. "It's okay. Do you remember
anything about Mayan Shipping?"
"The Star of India came in last night. Unloaded nearly her whole hold.
Crates all unlabeled. They contained stuff like ivory tusks, skins."
Duke scowled. "Drugs in 'em?"
"No, man. Contraband. Just about as valuable and you can buy off the
customs officials overseas for that stuff. They play the shell game
with those crates till the only way to track it is by the supervisor's
clipboard. We can't get 'm if we can't find the loot."
Duke found it hard to accept that all the complicated ruse was about
tusks and skins. "How can we find them?"
Kono shook his head. "We don't, Duke. The Star of India will have
gone by this morning and probably with the guys who tried to kill
me on board."
Duke did not answer right away. The possibility of Kono having risked
his life on a case that would now escape was more than he wanted to
admit. There would have to be a way.
While awaiting Manicote's arrival, Moyer
took the opportunity to bully HPD into providing the conference room
with coffee, juice and three dozen donuts.
"Looks more like a damned Sunday brunch than an interrogation," Carl
McGarrett also wondered if Moyer had any idea of the depth of complication
that the incident at the cottage had created. "You aren't even
going to consider..." Kimo had started. No, I'm not. I can't. I know
Danno too well, better than anyone. Not him. But what if Wetzel's
right? He glanced at Danny who sat glaring at the floor, an obvious
black mood that had only deepened by Moyer trivializing the issue
with the food. Wetzel is wrong, Steve concluded stubbornly.
When Manicote arrived, he brought with him that air lawyers usually
do of being in control. He too gave a wry expression at the mountain
of pastries on the walnut finish Formica. "What is all this?" he asked
of the person with the most seniority--Moyer.
"I'd like to introduce you to Oliver Wetzel," Moyer said politely.
"Aha," he said slowly. "I heard you were here."
Wetzel glared silently and did not extend a hand.
"And," John pulled a paper from his jacket pocket, "this is a copy
of Judge Suski's search warrant grant to Wetzel to search the cottage
owned by Clara Williams' estate last night. It lists the occupant
as a Joyce Richards. How am I doing so far?"
"He told us it was a search and seizure!" Matthewson jammed a finger
towards Wetzel. "He didn't even tell us who it was!"
"There are leaks in the department, you jerk!" Wetzel yelled. "Someone
could have tipped him off. They'd have been gone."
"They?" John asked, but no one listened.
"We didn't even know it was Williams' place!" Carl argued. "All we
knew was that we announced ourselves and somebody started shooting
"No way! You did not announce!" Danny hollered, ignoring the painful
arm as he jumped up.
"They did! They announced on the way through the door--just like protocol!"
"And since when is it protocol to shoot first!"
"Hey! Now see-"
"Who fired first?" John shouted to be heard.
"They did" Danny insisted.
"He shot Bill Franklin!" Carl accused.
"After Greg Hunter shot me!"
John rubbed her forehead. It wasn't even eight o'clock on a Sunday
morning. "Gentlemen, if you please."
"DEA didn't do anything wrong. We announced. Greg told him to drop
the weapon, he didn't. He was reaching in his pocket for something
"My ID!" Danny put in.
"Yeah, I know that now. Greg didn't know that." Carl stopped a second
and added more quietly, "What would you have done in our place, Danny?"
Steve gestured to the blood stained T-shirt Danny was wearing. The
letters P.A.L. were blazed in bold black lettering across the front.
"Doesn't seem to me that anyone looked very closely."
"The damned light got shot out." Carl thew up his hands. "All I know
is that we followed protocol. If we'd been told we were bustin' a
cop maybe it would have been different. With the door bustin' and
that girl screaming--"
"What girl?" John and Steve asked together.
Danny's face reddened. "Rita Prate, the singer from Andy's."
Good God, not another singer, Steve thought before he could
"Can I ask what she was doing there?" Wetzel put in.
"Not what you think," Danny snapped.
"Yeah? You tell me what I think." Wetzel jutted his jaw out.
"I don't give a damn what you think. You're the one who's the cause
of all this!"
John tried to bring about order again. "Danny, please. Wetzel, can
we try to keep this civil?"
Danny slumped back onto the edge of his chair, tired, sore, angry,
and embarrassed at having been dragged in HPD like a common crook
and sitting here barefoot on the cold linoleum floor.
Wetzel walked to the far side of the room and stared at the paneled
wall as if to divorce himself from the entire proceedings.
"Let's remember we're just trying to get to the bottom of all this,"
John sighed. "Okay, Danny, you had this girl, Rita, at your aunt's
"She needed a place to stay following an assault on Friday. She surprised
somebody breaking in to her home. They beat her up," Danny explained.
"I was just giving her a safe place to stay."
"You have the police report number, I assume," John interjected.
He felt like kicking himself. "She didn't want to file a report."
Steve frowned. "You let her get away with that?"
"I was going to talk her into doing it Sunday--today. Just talk to
her, she'll confirm it."
"We don't know where she is," Carl informed him.
"What do you mean?" He looked alarmed.
Wetzel spun back. "They lost the damned girl! What a bunch of jerks!"
Carl's face now flushed. "Drew took her out to the car. He left her
to check on Bill. When he got back, she was gone."
"The only witness and you let her walk away!" Wetzel hooted.
Carl jabbed a finger at him. "Don't you start with me again!"
Steve was moving towards the phone. "Danno, let's get an APB out.
I assume neither of you has, right?" he remarked to Matthewson and
Danny gave the description. "Have them check at Andy's, maybe she
went there. I had been thinking someone might be after her and she
was afraid to tell me. Maybe she told Andy something."
"We'll find her," Steve said with determination.
Wetzel rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Unless she doesn't want
to be found. She's facing possession charges, too, you know. That
girl has disappeared into the sugar cane somewhere."
Steven spun towards him, anger just barely in check. "There aren't
a lot of people I'd like to beat to a pulp. Congratulations, you've
just made the list."
Wetzel never blinked, just stepped forward, eye to eye with Steve.
"Name your place."
"For the love of God, what is this?" Moyer asked, throwing up his
hands. "I haven't seen such childish behavior out of a roomful of
men since adolescence!"
"See what happens when we decide to throw out the rules?" McGarrett
Moyer let it go by without further comment.
John used his handkerchief to mop his brow. "So far we have established
that Danny had a--visitor--who's now missing--who may or may not have
had an assault."
"That's for real," Danny blurted. "She was beat up."
"Okay." He raised his hands. "She was assaulted. She came to you for
help and you took her out to the cottage instead of filing a police
report because....." He looked at Danny to fill in the blank.
"She didn't want to go to the police," he filled in miserably, feeling
"And why did you go to the cottage?"
He shrugged. "I have two bedrooms there. Nobody knows about it--well,
at least they didn't."
"You took a girl to a remote location alone and spent the night. Doesn't
that sound like poor judgment?" John asked, sounding like a teenager's
"It does now," he admitted.
John turned back to Wetzel, who stood looking at the wall again. "You
obtained a search warrant based on what evidence?"
Wetzel glanced at John with a grin, then back at the wall. "Research,
investigation, bank records." He stopped.
When it became plain Wetzel was not going to voluntarily continue,
Manicote said, "Would you be more specific?"
"Why? I don't have to."
"Well, you can't press charges in this state without it. Not to mention
the little issue about falsification on the warrant."
Wetzel turned towards him, looking ready to attack the smaller DA.
"You knew this Joyce Richards didn't occupy the house anymore, but
you put her name on the warrant," John fearlessly stated to clarify
Wetzel growled. "For security."
"It is still illegal."
Wetzel yanked the form from his jacket pocket. "You see this?" He
shoved it first at Manicote, then Moyer. "You signed this," he snapped
at the Governor. "Unlimited rights, remember?"
"It doesn't matter what he signed," Manicote declared, realizing that
he was also starting to react to Wetzel. "You are still limited by
the Constitution, Wetzel."
Wetzel sized up Manicote. "Very well," he said with a nod, as if pandering
to nursery school children. He turned, hands on hips towards Williams.
"You were followed for two days. In that time, you met with known
drug dealers three times. I have photographic evidence of you giving
money to two of them."
He scowled. "I am following the gang wars, Wetzel. I paid snitches
a few times this week."
"Whatever you say," Wetzel replied coldly. "I have evidence of you
giving drug dealers money. And records that 18 months ago you were
treated for a cocaine overdose."
"You bastard!" Danny exploded.
"AND we found drugs in your residence, your car. Even a plastic bag
of six packets buried outside the house. There was fresh dirt on your
boots!" Wetzel shouted back.
"I dug up a dead bush! John, I'm not going to stand for this twisting
of the facts!" Danny was on his feet and headed for the door. "I'm
out of here!"
Wetzel blocked the door. "You're not going anywhere. Your're under
arrest. Besides..." He paused and a sly smile creased his face. "...you
haven't heard the rest. I know about the bank account at Hawaiian
"I don't have an account there," Danny refuted.
Wetzel gave a chuckle.
He's enjoying this, Steve realized, like a cat would play
with a mouse before it moves in for the kill. Is that what Wetzel
is doing? Moving in for the kill?
"Come on, Williams, I know it all, might as well fess up!" Wetzel
"Yeah, set you up," Wetzel finished. "Then they began the frame in
1949! That account was opened in 1949. No activity since 1952, it
just puttered around adding interest to a principle of about $60.
But, nine weeks ago, $50,000 was added." He assumed an innocent gaze.
"Where's you find $50,000 on a cop's salary, Williams?"
He stood speechless.
"Money in the four zeros has been flying in and out of that account
like crazy." Wetzel strutted to the far side of the room and turned
back. "Well, boys?" He looked from man to man.
"But there is no bank account," Danny repeated.
Wetzel gave one more stuccotic chuckle of sarcasm. "Here's how it
goes, folks. The man has a quiet habit. Only managed to get snagged
once--or maybe that started him, hard to say." He shrugged. "But,
about nine weeks ago, he makes a hooker girl friend. Now he's feeding
them both, so to speak. He decided to get some freebies by pulling
some drug jobs himself. Maybe a few payoffs. But to keep things quiet,
he uses his old dime savings that has been collecting dust for thirty
years or so."
"This is all a big sham," Danny stated. It'll never get to court."
"Really? How about when it gets to the press?" Wetzel said quietly.
"Because if the Hawaiian legal system won't lock you up that's where
it'll go. The press will eat you alive."
Steve watched the color drain from Danny's face. Williams gripped
the back of the chair, hands shaking, eyes staring down at the table
as the emotion melted away. Good Lord, he's going to come apart
right in front of me, Steve realized in horror. Wetzel doesn't
know. He can't possibly know, but right now Danny doesn't believe
that. I should have made him talk about it. I should have made him
get help. I need to get him away from this.
"Danny," Manicote tried to control the exchange again, "trust
me. See this through." He had also observed the change in Williams,
but could not have interpreted the cause accurately.
Danny looked up at Manicote, but obviously had not heard him. He suddenly
bolted for the door. Wetzel moved in to block the way, but Danny's
shoulder slammed against his chest, pitching him sideways into the
water cooler beside the door. The twenty-gallon glass water bottle
wobbled, then hit the linoleum spraying water and glass everywhere.
Steve made it to the door only seconds after Danny, but Danny was
not to be seen. A secretary stood, open-mouthed in the hallway, a
stack of forms still in her arms. Wordlessly, she pointed towards
the firedoor of the stairwell leading to the roof at the end of the
hall. The door was just clicking shut.
Steve burst into the stairwell, just as the thick steel door to the
roof above clanged. "Danno?" His voice echoed in the well. Silence
answered him. Steve raced up the stairway and burst through the door
out onto the tar and gravel roof into the brilliant sunshine. The
early morning air was still crisp and carried the salt of the breeze
off the water.
Danny was standing at the edge of the roof, one bare foot on the ledge,
looking down. If he knew Steve was also on the roof, he did not reveal
McGarrett's heart thundered in fear. This isn't really happening.
It's a nightmare. What do I do? "Danno?" he said quietly, taking
a few steps closer.
There was no response.
Caught between wanting to yell at him to snap out of it and wanting
to hold him like an injured child, Steve waited. He finally found
words. "Danno, look at me."
He did not.
"No one believes Wetzel."
Aside form the light breeze that ruffled his hair, Williams made no
How many times have I talked jumpers out of their decisions? Yet,
now when it matters the most, I cannot think of the right thing.
"Danno, please. This isn't the way." Does he even hear me? What
is he thinking? "Talk to me. What's happening? I am here for you."
A single tear dropped onto the concrete ledge of the roof.
McGarrett dared a step closer. If I lunge for him, what will he
do? If I don't, what will he do? "Come with me. We can straighten
this mess out. It's just a big misunderstanding. You know that, I
know that. It'll be all right."
"It will never be all right," his voice whispered back.
Steve was surprised that he had responded and a bit relieved. At
last. We can still reach each other. "Okay, let's talk about it,"
he offered. I must keep him talking.
"Because it will help."
"Nothing will help."
"Won't know if we don't try."
About what? "Danno, I know you aren't a dirty cop."
"Why didn't you had let me die when Chaney shot me? What's the point?
Nothing has ever been the same. Lani----" He started to weep.
Steve wanted more than anything to put an arm over his sobbing friend's
shoulder. "Give me your hand, Danno."
Instead he stepped up onto the ledge with the other foot.
"God, Danno, please!" Steve blurted.
"Why wasn't it me?" he whispered between sobs. "Lani died because
"You know that isn't true," Steve risked to counter. "You did all
"I told her she would be okay! I told her...." His voice was lost
in the pain once again. "I disgraced her memory! Mali---I thought
I could help her. God, Mali......" He stopped talking again. It seemed
like an eternity that there was no sound except the tears. "I should
have died." He buried his face in his hands and his muffled voice
said, "I should have let them kill me...how could I have done that...How
could I? They were going to kill me---they said they would eat me.
I should have just stopped them. There should have been something
else. How could I?..." his voice trailed off.
McGarrett knew he was close enough. He grabbed hold of Danny from
behind by both arms and pulled him back from the ledge with such force
that they both landed in a tangle on the sharp stones of the roof.
For a moment, Steve just held on for all he was worth, thankful that
the most immediate danger was passed. When he found his voice he said
quietly, "Danny, you've accomplished so much good. There's so much
left for you to do. It will get better."
"I KILLED THEM, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT?" he suddenly screamed at the
top of his lungs. From the rooftop, it seemed to echo throughout town.
"WHAT KIND OF A MONSTER AM I?!"
"Danno!" Steve turned him so they were face to face. "I know everything
that happened and I know why."
"You can't possibly know! I killed them! There was blood everywhere
and he wouldn't die!" Danny was absolutely manic. He tried to pull
free of Steve's fierce grasp unsuccessfully. "Please just let me die!
The blood was on my hands. It is on my hands. It won't wash off!"
He held out his hands, rubbing them violently together. "It won't
"Danno!" Steve shouted at him, this time roughly. "You did not do
wrong by defending yourself."
"Defending myself?" he whispered weakly. He sagged back in McGarrett's
embrace, helplessly. "Defending myself? I butchered that man--a human
being. I cut him to pieces! I cut off his head!"
Steve wanted to tell him that human beings didn't contemplate cannibalism.
Instead, he enfolded Danny in his arms as they both sat on the hot,
sticky tar roof. What can I do to help him come back? God, I'll
get him help, I'll see to it he goes, just let him get out of here
with some kind of dignity intact. A movement from the corner of
the roof caught Steve's eye and he turned.
Oliver Wetzel stood in the doorway, no emotion registering on his
face whatsoever. None of the caustic remarks or patronizing looks--just
Steve would have given his own life for it to have been anyone else
in the world. Rage exploded in his mind and portrayed itself in the
hostile look that washed over his face. "Do something worth while,
Wetzel. Call 911." Are you happy with what you've done?
Without a word, Wetzel turned away.
No, Wetzel didn't do this. Danny did it to himself. He should have
gotten professional help. I did this because I let him try to handle
Steve did not care what became of the
others who had been at the early morning meeting in HPD. He returned
to the office exhausted, angry, and confused. Sometimes the office
could be a point of refuge and right now that was what he needed.
He was consumed with guilt and sorrow. No one could have seen this
coming, he tried to tell himself. It was just a freak of poor wording
on Wetzel's part. Or was it? Was there something I missed? Does Wetzel
know? How much did he hear on the roof? He opened the door to
his office to see Duke Lukela standing there. Duke's expression was
anything but serene. Steve wondered if he looked as bewildered as
"Steve, what's going on?"
He stood there, unable to hide the pain. Duke never knew about
the Fijian poachers either. The secret was kept from him, too. And
this isn't the time, either. "Wetzel," he said, praying that Duke
would press no farther.
He said nothing, but there was a look of disappointment in his eyes.
Whatever this is, Steve won't even trust me with it. There has
been the aura of tragedy in this office for months. It is so close
to the surface, I can almost touch it. "Steve, talk to me. Something
has been wrong here for a long time."
Steve sank down onto the couch, elbows on his knees, hand to his forehead.
"I heard about Wetzel and his accusations. I knew Danny had problems,
but I never imagined...I should have told you, but I kept thinking
he'd find his way out. I'm sorry, Steve."
McGarrett looked up at Duke. "You knew?" Is that possible? Danny
He nodded. "I should have reported him."
"I didn't think there were drugs involved, too."
"Drugs?" What are we talking about?
Duke was watching Steve closely. "We aren't talking about the same
thing, are we."
Steve did not reply. You first.
"His drinking problem."
"Drinking?" Steve whispered.
"I knew he was drinking more and more, but he seemed able to keep
it out of his professional life, so I didn't say anything. I was trying
to get him to enroll in AA."
Steve just stared at Duke. Is there no bottom to this? Kimo's accusation
haunted him. "You won't even consider the possibility..." "I don't
think there is a drug problem," he said thickly. Am I sure? I don't
know what I'm sure of anymore.
Confused concern etched across Duke's usually calm features. "I don't
Steve's gaze drifted and came to rest on the board containing information
about Mayan Shipping. He rose and approached the board. I haven't
even remembered Robert Bedson. Is that what is behind this? Is there
a connection? "Duke, get Kimo in here. I think I'd like Wetzel's
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